


each other’s real

by howlingheartdemigod (helpmeimstuckon)



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: BACK ON MY BULLSHIT, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Fluff, Nightmares, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rain symbolism, Stimming, posted this on tumblr like. a while ago and forgot to post it here, whoops
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-11
Updated: 2019-10-11
Packaged: 2020-12-09 04:42:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20989031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helpmeimstuckon/pseuds/howlingheartdemigod
Summary: Beau wakes up to the shifting of their bed as Yasha shoots awake in the night. Yasha’s nightmares had never been loud per say, the sound of the rain hitting the window certainly made itself known better than the creaking of the bed as she shifted, but Beau could read every line of her body, and it was scrawled in all caps. Even with Beau’s shitty night vision she could see it. Yasha shot up, rod straight, her breath fast and catching, like the sound of something dying.-Yasha has nightmares. Beau tries to help. It rains.





	each other’s real

**Author's Note:**

> originally posted on tumblr  
find me there at howlingheartdemigod
> 
> title from a poem by atticus
> 
> 'Tell me truth of you   
all the messed up muddled truth   
and I will tell you mine   
and we can be   
forever   
the secret keepers of each other's real'

Beau wakes up to the shifting of their bed as Yasha shoots awake in the night. Yasha’s nightmares had never been loud per say, the sound of the rain hitting the window certainly made itself known better than the creaking of the bed as she shifted, but Beau could read every line of her body, and it was scrawled in all caps. Even with Beau’s shitty night vision she could see it. Yasha shot up, rod straight, her breath fast and catching, like the sound of something dying.

Beau moved slowly as the drops hit the glass nearby, and watched as Yasha hands searched the blankets between them for purchase, the other, reaching for the blade they’d long since decided to keep an inch out of reach, just in case. After a moment, after finding no forged steel, and Beau’s warm form, Yasha curled slowly, hands cradling the sides of her head.

Beau had learned early on sharing a bed with Yasha what her nightmares looked like. Yasha wasn’t the sort of person to cry through her dreams, but Beau knew her like Beau knew the air on her skin. She knew that Yasha would start to twitch minutely, just her fingers and toes. She knew that her lips would part in small rasping gasps. She knew that she’d suddenly fly awake reaching for things, for people who she feared were not there, who sometimes weren’t. Beau knew all of this, and she knew how to help. She didn’t think herself good with emotions. She didn’t fool herself into thinking she’d somehow gotten better at them in general. Beau was bad at caring for people, but for Yasha, when caught in the throes of an unpleasant memory, Beau was willing to try.

She moved slowly, into Yasha’s sightline, holding one hand out to her. “Hey, you’re safe now.” She promised, voice discordant, care and worry fighting for her attention. She moved her hand to Yasha’s knee, palm up, an invitation. “I’m right here.” She promised again.

Yasha’s was quick, the heavy, repeating crash of sobs becoming a trickle of sharp breaths. She dropped a hand from where it clutched her face, and took Beau’s, fingers twisting together.

“You’re in bed.” Beau continued. “We’re in Roshana. If you turn your head left you’ll see Jester’s mural. If you turn your head right, you’ll see me.” Beau took a breath, looking for things to describe. Admittedly, Beau didn’t know if this part was helpful, Yasha’d never said it wasn’t, but Yasha did it for her, the quiet stream of words, the quiet stream of things to focus on that were outside of the dream, the panic, the fear. “It’s raining. It’s a very nice sound. If you want me to be quiet so you can listen to it for a second, squeeze my hand.” Beau paused, no squeeze came. “Alright. If you change your mind let me know.” She looked to the window, searching for words. Searching for something to focus on. “Hey, if you want to, I can move a little, so you can run your hands through my hair.” There was a soft exhale from Yasha, maybe a yes, maybe a no, maybe a laugh. She hoped a laugh. If she could get her laughing she could get her breathing slowed. It was still too sharp, still to short, still too scared.

“Gimme your other hand if you want." Beau held out her other hand, shifting to sit facing Yasha, legs crossed. After a pause, Beau just barely saw Yasha’s hand reach out in the dark, shaking like loose shutters in a storm. She took it, and pulled the fingers first to her lips. She pressed a small kiss against Yasha’s finger tips, then moved her hand around to the back of her neck, at the base if her hair. "Do you, uh,” Beau’s brain short circuited for a second as Yasha’s fingers started drifting back and forth, she had to clench her jaw and clear her throat to bring herself back. “Do you remember that first time you kissed me?” She asked, eyes drifting to the window. “Do you remember how your hand moved around to the back of my head, kinda like this?” Yasha stayed quiet, not seeming to respond to the muttering. “If you want me to stop telling this story, squeeze, and I’ll shut up.” She felt Yasha lean forward until her forehead met Beau’s shoulder, the hand she’d been grasping Beau’s with untangling to pull Beau closer. Beau happily obliged, moving so her legs were draped across Yasha’s. She wrapped her freed hand around Yasha’s shoulders, leaning into her. “You asked if it was okay. I didn’t get at first you were asking if it was okay that you’d kissed me.” She laughed softly, feeling a soft hum from Yasha, a reassuring roll of thunder. “I promised it was.” She moved to kiss her temple, then leaned back in. “Then you told me that you’d been so scared, so terrified of so many things. But part of what you were scared of was that you’d never get to see me again.” She let her hand mirror Yasha’s, drifting small patterns across the base of her neck. She smiled a little, trying to keep from laughing. It tickled, Yasha’s fingers tracing patterns over the undercut beneath her loose hair. “I couldn’t believe it, you know. That Jester’s spell had worked. That you were… yourself again.” Beau pressed a kiss to Yasha’s head, happy to feel her breath slow. “You thought of me when you were gone. It was… wild to me.” Beau took a breath. “You were scared you wouldn’t see me again.”

“You promised you wouldn’t leave my sight again.” Yasha’s voice was like the first break of sunlight after a long night. There was a long shaking breath. “Kind of impractical, Beauregard."

The laughter that escaped Beau scared the lingering fear out of the room. She nodded, fingers stilling on Yasha’s shoulder. "Very.” She agreed. “But I try, at least."

Yasha pulled back slowly, eyes searching Beau’s face. Beau was a little jealous still, of the ease with which she could see in the night. She smiled, as Yasha’s hand lifted from her waist to her face, tracing her jaw. "Yes. You do."

There was no want to talk about the nightmare. No need. Beau knew full well the fear Yasha held of being back there, the same way Yasha knew Beau’s fear of not being able to protect her from it again. The kind of fear that could not be properly combated. The kind of fear that lingers. The kind of fear that could only be dealt with by holding tight and chasing away the danger with old promises, made over again in bed, on a dark, rainy night.


End file.
